Sooooo my new doctor thinks I'm an aneroxic cokehead.
Yeah. I know, right?
I went to my doctor's office earlier this week for my yearly check up, and was confronted with a new female doctor who was all bright and shiny with a nice peppy ponytail. I could tell from the moment I met her we weren't going to get along.
She sat down, opened my chart and yelped. "OMG ... your body index...." she stuttered... "You can't model in France!"
HUH?! I looked at her blankly, stunned. She collected her thoughts and said "What I mean is, your body mass index is way too low! You are too skinny to model in France. They wouldn't allow it." Damn, my life goal of moving to Paris and becoming a supermodel is shot. Seriously? I mean, that can't even be true. This woman should go to South America. Her head would explode.
Then, she said, "What are you goaling at... 100?" I was still confused, but that seemed to make more sense than the model comment. I mean the word "goal" I associate with soccer, which has nothing to do with my weight unless she was telling me I couldn't play soccer in France. "I don't understand what you mean." She explained that she was asking me if I was aiming to be 100 pounds. I told her that my friend Jamie and I threw a party for me when I broke 100 in high school and that I was very proud of three digits and wasn't looking to go backward, thank you very much.
She then went into her whole schtick about eating disorders, and how important eating is — no, really? — and I let her talk for a little to make herself feel better than interrupted her. "Ma'am, I have a fast metabolism. I'm also hypoglycemic. I actually eat lots of meals several times a day because if I don't my blood sugar drops and I get really bitchy." She smiled at me and said "Honey, I doubt you are hypoglycemic, but if telling yourself that makes you eat more then I'm all for pretending." Wow. And hellllllooooo Dr. McBitch.
We moved on to the STD portion of our conversation. "Maybe we should test you for Hepatitis C just once, to make sure you don't have it." I thought that was kind of random but I was like whatever you want, go ahead. She said, "Well if you snort drugs, you are at risk for Hep C." I nodded my head and smiled politely, biting my tongue. "You know, you can get it from sharing straws."
Whaaaaaaaat!? Let me explain something. I'm a bit of a germaphobe. Yes, yes I am a huge disaster and am super messy but I really hate germs. I don't like to share forks, I hate when people ask if they can have a bite of my burger, and I am thoroughly disgusted by subway poles. "OMG really!?" I shrieked. She lit up, although I didn't understand why. "Yeah, like coke straws." I replied, "Oh well I don't drink soda but sometimes I share my water bottles." She looked at me, dumbfounded. "You can't really be that naive?" Ahh, but I can. When she realized I wasn't in fact, "messing with her" as she put it, she explained that she was talking about cocaine. "I meant straws to snort cocaine. Like rolled up dollar bills. I feel like a badass doctor explaining about drugs. Wow, you really are that innocent."
Okay, you all might think I'm really slow. And it's not like I've never seen drugs before or am Mary freakin' Poppins but I just don't pick up on drug jokes. Like Colin Farrell's sniffles joke at the Golden Globes last Sunday — totally went over my head until I read about it at work. My friend's joke when I came out of the bathroom for too long (I had been talking on the phone and hiding from the loud music), "What were you doing in the bathroom?" "I wasn't pooping I swear!" I proclaimed as he laughed and explained thats not what he was implying. But hey, I'm not the most innocent out of all my friends. At a bachelorette party in Vegas a guy offered one of my girlfriends a cigarette, said "Want a bum?" and when she nodded he stuck the cig up her nose and she gasped in surprise, simultaneously inhaling the white powder that was in the hollowed out tube. Apparently he had said "Want a bump?" and she had misunderstood, accidentally doing coke for the first time.
Anyway... the good ole doc tried to make up for all of her accusations when she found out I wrote gossip for a living and told me how she loves Perez and then said the necklace I was wearing was "soo Carrie Bradshaw". But the damage was done. And once she said I was so skinny she could easily feel my ovaries, I decided I'd had enough. I'm taking my starving sniffles elsewhere from now on.
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